Residual Revenge
by Lizdacious
Summary: Sequel to Revenge. Lilly goes much deeper into getting back at Miley. Liley.
1. Prologue

**A/N: (1) Please read Revenge, and Reason for Revenge before this story, thank you.**

**A/N: (2) This is just a prologue into the story. The rest of the chapters **_**will**_** be longer. Enjoy.**

x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x

"We're getting a divorce," she said it so simple.

Words like those shouldn't be simple.

My mother shook her head and sighed. As the years piled on her, it was becoming easier to tell when she was worried, and only for the sole reason that her wrinkles were showing more.

"Okay," what else was I supposed to say?

"Your father plans on asking her to marry him, you know."

She always had to be the gossip queen. Why couldn't she understand I didn't want to hear that?

"She'll say no," I said that with way too much infuriation; too many left over feelings still existed.

But who was I kidding? I didn't even know Miley anymore. No one really knew her anymore. Not even my father.

"Right," my mother lazily responded, filled with sarcasm. She began picking at her acrylic pink nails.

x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x**HM**x

_You are cordially_

_invited to the_

_marriage between_

_Lucas Truscott_

_&_

_Miley Stewart_

I crumpled the invitation before I even finished reading it. I wasn't going, nonetheless see them.

That night we danced, we kissed… Miley was an unfaithful bitch. I hoped I was getting revenge on her, but that won't be enough. I need to make her _want_ me, _desire_ me. Then we'll see how much she likes being left behind.


	2. Chapter One

**A/N: I know this isn't much longer than my other ones, but it's actually hard to write long chapters in the type of format I'm doing, which is like a poetic story, but I hope you guys' are satisfied with this.**

She stood on my porch. She didn't press the doorbell though. She would pace back and forth, but never informed me she was there.

I watched through the dirty window. Once in a while a smushed bug prevented me from seeing what she was doing.

Her three-inch high heels stopped clicking.

She had a determined look on her face.

Her arm was slowly lifting.

Even through this hazed window, I saw the peach fuzz on the back of her neck shoot straight up.

She did it finally. She rang the doorbell.

Now it was up to me. Should I allow her the privilege of seeing my beautiful face?

Of course I should. It was part of my plan after all.

I strode down the stairs and to the front door with a sense of confidence.

My hand stopped moving once it touched the frostbitten brass doorknob. Something was holding me back, an ominous spirit.

I forced myself to finish twisting the portal that held my future.

Her eyebrows were curved in an upward position, a look of sorrow.

She was cutting her bottom lip with her teeth. Obviously she was nervous; a trickle of blood seeped through the cracks of her perfectly white incisors.

Her mandible quivered.

Her eyes glistened. It was like watching ice melt slowly.

Neither of us spoke.

She shuffled her feet, and I coughed.

But still no noise was formed from our vocal cords.

A car zoomed by in the background. A bird chirped. I spoke, "What do you want?"

"Are you coming to the wedding?"

Were you fucking kidding me? You came all the way here just to have asked me _that_?

I was flabbergasted.

"No," I responded flat out, but then rethought my answer. I should go. This was my chance to put my plan in action. Suddenly I got a sly look on my face. "Only if we can have unfaithful sex afterwards."

I was mocking her, and she knew it.

"I'm not into you," Miley scoffed.

"Sure seemed like that when we danced," I slammed the door, not wanting to hear another word from her.

She was slime, absolutely disgusting.

"Your father wants you there!" I hear her shrilling voice seep through my wooden door.

I let out an aggravated scream in return, and throw myself onto the couch.

_Click, click, click, click, click_. Good she's gone. I always hated the sound of her heels against the worn wood on my porch.

**XhmXhmXhmX**

Mail was here again.

_You are cordially_

_invited to the _

_marriage between_

_Lucas Truscott_

_&_

_Miley Stewart_

Why did they keep sending those things to me? Didn't they understand, when I said no, I meant _no_.

Obviously not.

I entered my kitchen; pulled out a butcher's knife, and a cutting board. I placed the invitation neatly onto the cutting board. Raising my arm that contained the silver sharp object, I slammed it down onto the off-white flower-printed paper. Again. And again. And again.

I angrily grabbed the piece of wood that held all my frustration, and tilted it, allowing the small pieces of paper fall to the ground, as slow as snow.

As soon as the last one touched the floor, I began to wildly jump up and down on them. Thinking that the more pressure I put onto them, the further they'd permeate into hell.

I evilly laughed with satisfaction.

I walked with triumph, but stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the familiar shadow of someone standing outside my front door.


End file.
